Kitt Knight (always_k_i_t_t) wrote in open_high_ways,
Kitt Knight
always_k_i_t_t
open_high_ways

Let It Be Me

His mind had not been on what he was singing. He'd gone through the old tried-and-true songs, but then he'd sung two new ones that seemed to be well-accepted as well, but his mind was very much elsewhere. He'd translated the binary into alphanumerics, but it'd been April that discovered what they actually meant. (And Kitt thought she needed to go back to the travel agency, personally - eventually, the woman was either going to velcro herself to Devon or try to crawl up Michael's pantsleg. Really.)

There was going to be setup time between his band and Class Action, and so as they left the stage, Kitt looked for Michael. He had news to tell him. Slightly worrisome news. And most of it had to do with just what setup had to deal with. Jimmy was thrilled with it of course, and he knew that if he didn't catch Michael first, Jimmy would be happy to spill the news. The fact that this concert was going to be a live telecast didn't really matter anymore.
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Michael had been looking for Stevie-- it might be over between them, but that didn't mean he was prepared to lose track of her and let her end up in danger. He spotted Jimmy before he spotted Kitt-- call it that red vest. It made him stand out. "Hey, Jimmy, where's Stevie?"

"I dunno, she was here a minute ago with Paul. Hey," he asked, excited, "Did you hear about the big screen they're using tonight?"

"... Big screen?"

"Oh it's great! Barbara set it up. They're gonna project the show behind you guys while you're playing. You're gonna be twelve feet tall-- gigantic, man!" He sounded delighted, but Michael wasn't as pleased.

Not by a long shot. "Have you seen Kitt? He's-- gonna want to hear about that..." Or something.
"Michael!"

...Well, there was Jimmy. And the look on Michael's face made it clear. He knew. There was none of his persona in him. Just Kitt, worried. Things had changed, and thus, plans had to change, too. He jogged over, placed a hand on Michael's shoulder. "You heard about the big screen?"

Hah. The answer was yes. He knew.
"Yeah, Jimmy just told me." Michael hustled Kitt toward the side door, to the parking lot. "Can you patch in?" Asked quietly.
"I was just going to suggest that," Kitt answered. "We have to tell Devon and April."

Behind them, Jimmy shrugged. He guessed it was true, after all.

They had to go a distance away so no-one saw the shapechange, but then Kitt was already contacting the Foundation, door open for Michael.
Michael climbed in, pulled the door closed behind him. As soon as Devon picked up, he outlined the change in situation.
"I don't like it, Michael." The concern was evident in Devon's voice. "They suspect you're onto them. They're breaking their usual pattern."

Wasn't it obvious? Kitt could see it - the CC system would be perfect for the message's transmission.
"Broken pattern or not, this may be our only chance, Devon. You handle the DEA, Kitt'll handle the code, and I'll handle Barbara and Paul." He cut the call-- Kitt could get hold of him as fast as he needed to. "All set?"

Flash the code onto the big screens so their contact could tape it despite the live broadcast...
"I'm ready and waiting." Tapping into the video feeds as they spoke. Soon, he'd have the perfect vantage.

Jimmy ran out, spotting the black car and determinedly not wondering about what he was doing in his car when, "Michael, come on! We're on in five!"
... Oh, right, the show must go on.

"I gotta go--" and Michael took off as fast as his legs could carry him.

Another twenty pounds of black leather, and there was Stevie-- flanked by Paul and Barbara, that was suspicious. But damn, she did look good. Finally something that looked good with a ragged hem. "Hey, you look fabulous."

"Thank you." It seemed... forced.

"... You okay?"

"I'm fine-- I think that's our cue."

"What's wrong?" he asked. Something was off. He could... well, feel it.

"Nothing." Dammit, Michael, shut up!

"Stevie, talk to me."

"Michael, please, we're on."

He lowered his voice as they headed for the stage. "They know, don't they? Did they threaten you?" She had to know he wouldn't let anyone hurt her...

"There's a man with a gun in the audience." And it was taking everything she had just to keep from screaming.
Kitt extended his scanners, focused on the concert as it began, as they sang, as Devon and April watched. As he picked up on a firearm in the building.

The songs went by and Kitt--

There. He stopped recording and played back, holding on the screen and transmitting the image. "April," he called to the Foundation. "I have it."

Multitasking began. He began translating the binary into alpha as he alerted Michael's comlink. "Michael, we've intercepted the code."

And it was the schedule, just as they'd expected. Devon was calling the DEA.

Kitt had known the case wouldn't last much longer. But now was the crunch.
"Kitt, gimme a blackout," Michael managed between lines of the song-- good thing he'd worn his comlink.

Sparks flew, lights went out, the crowd screamed, a shot was fired-- more sparks flew and the screaming changed tone, but no one seemed hurt.
Blackouts were simple. It was just a matter of a microjam focused on the right circuitry. But -- "Paul and Barbara are leaving," he notified, and was already starting his engine, going into gear, to block the exit.
He didn't have to give the order, but he did-- "Don't let 'em get away!" and Michael was running for the side door again.
That fancy imported car had the most annoying horn ever. High pitched and altogether unsuitable. Kitt didn't move from where he'd slung his length along the exit. There was no getting by, unless one had turboboost.

"Hey!"

"Come on, move it!"

Kitt didn't move an inch. Let them honk, let them yell, he was impervious.

Paul climbed out to look into his side window, which he'd left rolled down. "Look, pal, I don't know who you think you are, but--"

"Well, do something!" demanded Barbara. "Hit him!"

Paul turned. "There's nobody there..."

He sounded so confused.

"I resent that," Kitt informed him, and took some small measure of joy in watching them both stare. They knew that voice...
And that was when Michael tackled Paul against Kitt's passenger side. Paul was fast, but he didn't have much experience fighting someone Michael's size-- Mark was in his pay, after all. He did keep Michael busy long enough for Barbara to make a break for it.

Michael couldn't tell if she had the tape or not, but he was willing to bet she did. "Kitt, stop her!"
It only took a dodge forward of about two feet to keep her from getting past, even coming close to pinning her against the fence and hedge. She panicked, tried to pull free, but he wasn't moving.

She did indeed have the tape.
Michael grabbed for it, and Barbara fought him-- "What do you think you're doing? That's mine!"

"Thanks for the statement. You get that, Kitt?" Possession was nine-tenths...
"Every word," he answered. And he did - it was right there at the end of the video on his backup tape.

As a last resort, Barbara pulled the gun out of her handbag.
Whether she meant business or not, she really wasn't good with a gun-- Michael knocked it out of her hand while hanging on to the video tape. "Nice try, lady."

Stevie came out the stage door, staying near the railing, out of the way.
And yet, out of that same door came the usher who'd been prepared in the audience, red-jacketed and aiming.

"Michael! There's a man with a gun," he alerted. "By the stage door!"

Maybe Michael could hit the ground fast enough that it'd bounce off his MBS.
She wasn't losing him again-- not like that!

So she grabbed a two-by-four and hit the shooter with it.

... It was a wonderful plan that would have worked a lot better if she'd hit him hard enough to make him drop the gun.
It was never hard to see a red jacket. That made it doubly easy to see two. As the gunman turned to aim at Stevie, he didn't see the second, though. Flashy gold was a little shinier than red - but that didn't stop Mark from grabbing his gunhand and using that as leverage to hold him still so his fist would get twice the impact strength.

For a moment, Kitt thought he could've hugged the man.
Stevie thanked him, and Michael-- too far away to have done anything in time, but at the steps now-- offered his hand. "Nice having you around. Thanks."
Mark just shook the offered hand and smiled and Kitt? Kitt stayed in the background, keeping an eye on Paul and Barbara. Surely they wouldn't be stupid enough to try to run now.

The DEA arrived soon after, and Kitt knew the routine. They'd be needed at the station to give their statements.
Once statements were made and Paul, Barbara, and their gunman were taken into custody, Michael and Kitt dropped Stevie off at home before returning to the convention hall-- they had guitars and other gear there... and Michael wanted to switch at least the leather shirt for a T-shirt. Preferably the leather pants for jeans.

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